The evenings have begun to grow colder, the streets of Chicago lie a bit more silent than normal. Gone are the crowds, the rabble and discourse of the summer, leaving the city streets to only those with the drive to withstand the coming winter. Jessica Tremor has survived many a harsh winter. But as the days creep onward, she begins to find herself wondering if this might be the coldest of all. Betrayed those who would have called her a friend, and pursued across the world. Hannah Warr, the last glimmer of sensibility in her life, the last connection to the world they both came from. How easy it would be to fall, to give up, to roll over and die. But concession has never been Jessica's Strong Suit...
The Akagi Clan, the wealthiest, and most aggressive of Tokyo Yakuza; has chased Jessica from one side of the globe to another. Driven by a singular force, Oyabun, and his quest for revenge. Nearly three months its been, since the death of his son; buried in the rain. Since then, he has called forth the Yontoryu, the most Ruthless of Tokyo hitmen. Within their world, Jessica's World, they are known across the globe; committed murders and atrocities in pursuit of their own skewed view of "Perfection". Crafting the most skilled and respected warriors in the Tokyo underworld. Where many have turned to Powder and Technology, these men have spent generations, centuries learning a craft that has all but been forgotten.
And it is these men...
Who have set their sites on our hero.
The Night Creeps into early morning, since their departure from SCW, the two had fallen back on what they had known before. The Family, a group of individuals known throughout the Underground. From their many facilities across the globe, they've overseen the balance of global dominance for many years. The United States has always been a problematic Democracy, which is why the Family's presence in the Country is the highest of any across the globe. Jessica and Hannah however, have found themselves Nomads, assets who don't belong to a single Funded Family Unit. Instead preferring life on the road, taking jobs where they can, often finding themselves working for questionable motives, questionable people. Tonight is no different, Chicago has always been a city full of opportunity, and where there is opportunity, there are people willing to take advantage. The latest on the list is a Union Leader, a profiteer of the lower class. His work through the recent months has been in the service of making himself seem more than he is, and for that; had gained quite a following, a following that The Family couldn't abide.
The job was simple, the two had been given and address, a meeting place within the city. Where the two factions had agreed to come to terms with one another. The Family had always given a single opportunity, a single warning, and it was Jessica and Hannah who stood poised to deliver it.
The Black truck rolled to a stop in front of an abandoned Apartment complex on the edge of the city, Darkened windows dust-stained from years of neglect, the tell-tale signs of the homeless making their way in and out of the busted windows in the lower half of the building. The doors kick open, two pairs of sneakers hitting the ground in unison.
"Hell of a Place to spend a Friday Night..."
Jessica nodded in agreement, looking up at the building.
"Yeah no shit, you think they could have chosen somewhere, oh I don't know, with Electricity."
with a deep sigh the two shrugged to each other, stepping towards the dilapidated structure. Yellow tape and a single sheet of paper marking its scheduled destruction lay upon the steps below the door. It was clear that much like the people, this place had been all but forgotten by the city of Chicago. Hannah pulled at the door, it had been left open; the chain uncut, the padlock had been opened. Hannah gave Jessica a look, as if to say, "Here We Go." And with a nod, Jessica stepped back from the door, disappearing into the darkness.
The door opened with an echoing creak, no doubt whoever was here now knew of her presence. No reason to be sneaky about it now. Hannah made her way down the hallway, stepping deliberately as possible. The place smelled of urine, the sort of smell that comes with any place like this. As she moved through the hallway, she noticed something, or rather, noticed something that wasn't there to be noticed. The building was quiet, gone were the indigent who no doubt made this place their home on any other night; and what was left was absolute silence, a silence that felt unfitting. The corridor came to an L before the stairs, Hannah paused for a moment as the corner obscured her vision, she smirked momentarily before taking a deep breath. As she rounded the corner she was struck by a blinding white light, and then came the shot; the world fell to darkness.
She came to a few moments later, light instantly flooding her eyes as blurry figured moved across her vision. She was being dragged into a room, both her arms tied behind her back. The two men at either side pulled her up, sitting her down in a cold steel chair in the center of the room. As she regained her composure she began to realize the room was filled, men in what looked to be Swat style gear, Uniforms and insignia marking them as members of local Militia groups in the area. These were indeed the men she came to meet, she chuckled to herself momentarily before spitting on the floor, at the feet of the man standing in front of her. He was tall, a bit weighty in the stomach, as her eyes adjusted she could see the age on his face, the graying hair around its edges; she had seen his face before. He stepped towards her, kneeling down to her level.
"So, tell me young lady, what is it the Family wants from us?"
Hannah was unflinching, smiling.
"The Family has found your work within the city has become more troublesome than its worth. And requests that all actions related to you and your "Union" cease with immediate effect."
The man rubs his chin as if considering her words, raising from the kneeling position. He scoffs, shaking his head as the room breaks into uproarious laughter.
"That's pretty well spoken for a little Zoomer-Rat like you, Your daddy teach you to speak like that?"
"Richard Thomas Carmichael, son of Michael James and Laura Leigh, father of two, twice divorced. Bank account number 9924317831, we can make you a rich man, or a broken one. The choices you make tonight will dictate the actions the Family takes from this point forward, Your Ball."
The laughter has died, the men look to each other for a moment, then back to Richard for leadership. He steps forward, with a slap across Hannah's face that echoes throughout the room.
"Taught you to speak, but not a single thing about Respect. I Guess we'll have to do it for him."
He turns to the table, reaching for a Police issue extendable baton. A Few Tense moments pass as Hannah turns back towards him, the hair covering the red mark left across her cheek. She whispers to herself.
"Thats not all he taught me..."
Richard turns back, hearing the nearly inaudible utterance. Once again Kneeling close, pushing the hair from her face with the end of the Baton.
"What was that Little Girl?"
"I said my Father... Also Taught me a Little Swing."
The room shares a look of Confusion for only a second, Richard turning to the men standing around him. Hannah sees her moment, ripping through the Zip-ties around her wrists and grabbing both sides of the chair, ripping it in two. The jagged Metal crosses Richards face with a flash. Blinding him for a second before feeling the kick to the chest. His large frame takes flight backwards, crashing over the desk and into the wall. The room collapses into a may lay of swinging weapons, their outlines cast in silhouette against the blinding flood lights. Hannah dodges swinging Batons from both sides, misdirecting one man's momentum into another. The scene dropping into slow motion as the metal breezes through her Blonde hair. She sweeps, sending one of them horizontal in the air, slamming her fist down against his stomach, driving him through the hardwood floor below. The next rushes in, throwing a flurry of punches, modified Knucks on each hand. Hannah steps back, dodging each shot almost effortlessly, as if taunting the man to his face. He overshoots the final shot and she ties him up, swinging his body around her own, taking him completely off the ground before tossing him into the next group coming towards her.
Outside the Hallway has filled with more Men, black swat style gear, obviously taken from Various Police Departments throughout the city. But these are different, instead of Batons and Knuckles, these are more akin to a strike team. The lights of their Firearms quickly fill the room as they spread out in a half-moon pattern across the one side of the room. Richard, is finally beginning to collect himself off the ground, taking in the scene that has just played out in front of him. Hannah stops, realizing she's out gunned, and out matched by the overwhelming force standing behind her; throwing her hands in the air, her back to the strike team.
"Pretty slick, little girl. What exactly are you?"
With that, two grappling hooks smash their way through the walls on either side of the team. Grappling a man from each side, they look down, taking in what they've been hit with. The spike going in one side of their body, and opening like an umbrella on the other. They look to their team-mates for a moment before being ripped through the walls on either side, their screams disappearing into the dust. Hannah grabs the large oak desk with her left hand, lifting it and sending it flying towards the center of the group. They crash into the wall as the heavy desk slams into them. Suddenly the floodlights go dark, sending what's left of the room into total darkness. Hannah's eyes take a moment to adjust to the new light, the sounds of screaming and crashing can be heard all around her, as a tracer of a long red blade dances across the room; accented by flashes of gunfire and puffs of smoke.
As Hannah's vision settles in, the room falls silent. The only light remaining is the soft red glow of the sword cast upwards upon the figure of Jessica Tremor. Behind her, Richard sits quivering against the wall. He struggles with his trembling hands to lift the pistol from his waistband. Hannah rolls her eyes before kicking the weapon out of his grasp.
"W--What are you?"
"Exceptional. Now, about our agreement?"
"I'll do it, w-whatever you want. It's done..."
"I Hope it is Richard, because believe me I don't want to have to come back here. You could have laid down with all these men tonight, but because I'm feeling more generous than usual, you'll get to go home to your Children."
"Maybe we should leave him with something."Jessica chimes in, the glow slowly fading in her hands.
"No... No I think Richard has seen enough, haven't you?"
The man nods almost enthusiastically. Hannah smiles, patting him on his graying head.
"Good Boy. Now you're gonna sit here for 15 Minutes, no more, no less, and tomorrow, you'll dissolve what's left of your outfit, don't let us ever see you again."
The two women leave the man trembling in his own puddle. His staggered breathing only accented by the percussion of their footsteps retreating into the hallway.
Outside, the truck hasn't even gotten cold yet. Jessica tucks the sword into its sheathing, throwing it haphazardly into the backseat of the truck before climbing into the driver's seat. Hannah sits down, taking her drink from the cupholder, the ice still fresh in the cup. Taking a long, and well deserved drink, Jessica pauses, Hannah kills the cup in a single gulp.
"Oh, you didn't get tired did you?"
"Fuck yourself, your timing sucks."
"I Feel like I always have to carry us, thought you'd have liked a moment to shine."
"Well you gave me Two moments it felt like, you couldn't have handled those guys before they came into the room?"
"Yeah well... Maybe I wanted to flex."
Hannah rolls her eyes as the truck rumbles to life. The headlights flashing passed as the truck slow leaves the parking lot. As the night stands silent, the crumbling sound of tires moving across the gravel can be heard moving into frame. An all black E-Tron slowly crosses the lot, pulling up slowly to observe the truck leaving the scene. Inside, a single man sits quietly, he presses a button on the dash and an icon comes up on the main screen. A Set of Four Crossing Swords, over what looks like an old Samurai helmet. The logo flashes for a moment, accompanied by short rings of a telephone, after a few seconds, someone picks up.
"Shujin... Kanojo o mitsuketa."
:: -- They Used to Call us Outlaws. -- ::
Gather 'round dear viewers and let me tell you a story. A Story about a little federation that just couldn't get the fuck over itself, now many of you may already know my name. But for those of you who don't let me catch you up, My Name is Jessica Tremor. You might have come to know me from my appearance with places like Supreme Championship Wrestling. Well today you find yourself in luck, as we're going to go over what sets a place like the SCW Apart from many of the other companies playing this little game of ours. You see, we as entertainers fill a space for many. And with that comes certain levels of expectation, to keep up a certain level of Believability for the audience. Because to step outside certain boundaries would shatter the Suspension of Disbelief that comes with our Sport. Some people look at the theatrical nature of what we do and think that maybe there's a bit of a question as to whether or not what we do is legitimate. Forcing most places, to roll over to different tactics to make or break themselves, and their competitors. Supreme Championship Wrestling Unfortunately, cares not to take up any. And instead fall into the Category of what some would actually consider, Fake.
After spending only a month and a half with the brand, I could see the trouble that comes from being in the works for such a long time. Relying on the same Promotional Brands year after year, producing the same rhetorical bullshit week after week. Casting all the same faces, to do all the same things. It's what makes a brand stale, what makes people with actual talent wonder if there is anything left to this game at all? And for a while I almost felt disillusioned by the blatant favoritism that went on behind the scenes of SCW. For weeks I was put in matches with people who were the lowest of the low, and told week after week to put them over. So that's what I did, in the service of the brand I was trying to make my home. It was humiliating, to have to step out in front of those cameras every week and try and build those nobodies into something I could actually work with. And Why? Because the SCW never had a place for someone like me, someone who was willing to challenge the status quo, who looked at what they did every week and wondered why people bought into any of it. It was almost like they had no respect for anyone outside of their little circle. And when I finally had enough, and said what was really on my mind, what did they do? Did they take in stride? Did they take the criticism where it was needed? No, they shut me out.
Because that's what adults do. Right? Nah, those Children couldn't handle a couple True words, spoken passionately to their faces. And when it was all said and done, they couldn't even tell me to my face. They just quietly began removing my name from their card, from their roster. In an attempt to Bury what I had said about them and their brand. But I did my job, I drew heat for their company, like no one else had before. And overnight I became the single most awaited Superstar the SCW had seen in many years. But you think they'd let someone from the outside shine so brightly? You think they wanted to share the spotlight with anyone outside the Five or So Writers they had putting out the same shit week after week? No, they couldn't stand for it. They prefer the safety of repetition, the comfort of what's familiar; it makes me fucking sick. So I made my choice, and I walked the fuck out of my contract, because that shit is frankly unacceptable, in this business, or any other. Its why people are walking out of venues week after week, its why its hard to find talent. Because of places like the SCW, The Game has become a shell of what it once was, and any time someone looks to breath new life into this game, it scares the absolute shit out of them. Places like the SCW don't want competition, they want Comfort; comfort someone like me can't give them.
People like me used to stand for something, as we danced our way from Brand to Brand. In the Days of The Territories we were known as Outlaws. People who would make a name for themselves by taking the best and brightest from across the country and dragging them through the dirt; on their own turf. People like Jack Cain, Robert Brookes, and Tony Santos, gave people like us a place to call home. A Place to display our talents like no other. Where other places relied on the glitz and glamour, the production value and pretty faces. People like us got to exist in our own little world, where all that mattered were the two people standing in that ring, and the contest. It was thought for the longest time, that places like that had all but disappeared, become part of wrestling legend. But People thought Wrong, Ladies and Gentlemen, I stand now within the halls of the Asylum, Asylum Wrestling Society. Once again, giving people like me a place to exhibit our, shall we say, "Exceptional" talents for the world to witness.
Those who might know me, know that I'm not stranger to violence, no stranger to the contest. But what awaits me in a place like this? From what I see, its a place that once again, looks to test me, looks to doubt me, it's an easy mistake to make. They're calling it "Devils Night", a place where I'll once again have to Prove Myself against some of my fellow New Arrivals. Truthfully, these people aren't ready for me. There isn't a single person walking the halls of AWS who is on my level, none of them. Where I come from, my history with the business, makes these people look like Amateurs, rank Amateurs. The AWS Levelled up in Notoriety the second I walked through that door, and will continue to do so, so long as I'm here. Because just like SCW, I bring a new level of talent to the roster, a new level of drive that hasn't been seen in this business for decades. The ability to draw REAL Heat, to keep people glued to their screen. Something that has been missing in our game for a long time. I bring with me the light that shines on the bullshit these companies have been shelling out for years; and with my help, the AWS will usher in a new era of Competition. Where it doesn't matter how long you've been with a brand, where it doesn't matter who your Promotional Companies are, or who writes the scripts. And all that matters is the Massacre.
What do any of my opponents bring to the table? Can any of them say that they've seen the things I've seen? Done the things I've done? Been held in the regard I've been in these passed few years? To be honest, it doesn't fucking matter. Because the world they've existed in has been planned for far too long, and the list of names on this week's menu is a long one. Avery McCullen, Kassidy Dax, Jensen Kidd, Zoey Epsilon, and Paige Young. Any of those names ring a bell to anyone else? I Didn't fucking think so. Why? Because none of you have Ever done anything of note in your entire fucking lives, and I'm here to make sure you never will. Because up until now your game has been on easy mode, but I'm here to jerk you into a very harsh reality. That the Asylum belongs to me now, and there isn't a single one of you that stands to be able to stop me.
If you think I'm only referring to the people I'll share the ring with this week, you'd be sadly mistaken. The entirety of The Society's Roster is made up of nothings, nobodies. Who's only lot in life now boils down to being just another bodybag in the Mass Casualty Event. So from the bottom, to the very top, this is your Warning, I'm Coming for Everything; every goddamn piece of gold, every fucking drop of blood you can give me, I'm taking it. So Asylum Wrestling Society... Be Prepared...
Because on Devil's Night 2021...
We Will Begin.
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